


From the Ashes

by MostTulip



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Post - A Dance With Dragons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-16 17:45:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4634427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostTulip/pseuds/MostTulip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“I know you will like my gift, Your Grace. I have seen it in my fire.” She pauses, and looks Daenerys directly in the eye when she says, “I would bring your lost love back from the dead.”</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Only kind of canon compliant. Will be continued. Also available [here](http://mosttulip.tumblr.com/post/127354294602/from-the-ashes) on tumblr.

The woman in red comes to her three days after Khal Jhaqo finds her. The Khal has not killed her, not so long as Drogon remains with her. He is afraid of the dragon; most of them are. Few dare to approach her. That is fine with her. She prefers the solitude over the attention, and it is for her own safety as well. If they were to discover that her control over Drogon is not as great as they believe, it could mean her death rather than capture.

Khal Jhaqo intends to leave her at Vaes Dothrak so she may take her place among the crones, the  _dosh khaleen_. Her husband is dead, after all, and so is her child. Daenerys does nothing about this; the journey will be long and slow, more so now that she and her dragon are with them. She does not fight them, at least, not yet. For now, she waits and considers her options.

Her army and her people are in Meereen. Rhaegal and Viserion are in Meereen. But Meereen is not her home. She is Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, and the throne of Westeros is rightfully hers. But is the throne of Westeros truly worth all that she must do to get it?

Even with all her troubles in Meereen, she is able to rule. The Sons of the Harpy have shown themselves to be a threat, but she has Unsullied, and Second Sons, and Stormcrows. She has three dragons. Westeros is different. Her House was overthrown, her family slain. She has never seen the land nor met the people. Would they welcome another Targaryen? Or would she be forced to fight for her throne, to take it with fire and blood, death and destruction?

It is while she considers these things that one of the men guarding her that day announces she has a visitor.  _A maegi_ , he says, voice laced with disgust and hatred. Dany shares his sentiment; the last  _maegi_  she encountered was responsible for the deaths of her son and husband.

“Enter,” she calls out in Dothraki. A woman enters, her cloak and hood red as blood. Copper hair falls from the shroud, and when she stands straight, Dany sees a glowing ruby at her neck.

A  _maegi_ , the guard had said. This woman looked like no  _maegi_  Dany has ever seen, although she supposes they do not all look the same. Behind her, beneath her back, Drogon begins to stir, as if he can sense what this woman is. A puff of smoke is blown from his nostrils, and he raises his head to look at their visitor.

The tent Khal Jhaqo had given to Dany was perhaps the largest in the entire Khalasaar. Drogon could not fit in it, but he usually rested half his body inside, the back of the tent draping over the portion that could not fit. He either napped her, with her, or left to hunt. Even when he hunted, the Dothraki avoided her. They all knew her Drogon would return and they were all fearful of the black dragon.

“Your Grace,” the woman says in the Common Tongue, standing at her full height. She is slightly taller than Daenerys, almost the size of Ser Barristan or her bear-no, she could not say his name, could not think of him. Not while the wound still healed.

“You are from the Seven Kingdoms?” Daenerys asks this stranger, eyes wide with surprise. She wonders how this woman had convinced the Dothraki to allow her to see Daenerys. Then she remembers that this woman is a  _maegi_ , and the Dothraki fear them both. Of course, it was just as likely they would kill her tomorrow. With a dragon to protect her, the chances of Dany's death were less than a  _maegi's_.

The woman lifts her lips in a smile. “No, Your Grace. I am Melisandre of Asshai, a Priestess of R’hollor. I have traveled to Westeros, to serve the man I thought to be the true king of Westeros. But my visions were not clear. I saw fire and dragons hatching from stone. Now I understand that my visions were of you, Queen Daenerys.” The woman bows low, though she never takes her gaze off of Dany.

Despite the woman’s claims, Daenerys does not believe her. So this Melisandre has been to Westeros, and served her enemies. Briefly, she wonders which failed king the priestess had hailed to, before she brushes such meaningless thoughts aside. Who the woman served before is not important; each one was her enemy, a rival for that which was hers by right.

“You say this as if it should be reason enough for me to welcome you. Yet you claimed to have believed the same thing for one of my enemies. Tell me, which false king did you serve? Was it Robert Baratheon? Or perhaps the child king, Joffrey? Where is your false king now? Dead?” she asks, letting all her mistrust and suspicion poison her words. 

For her part, Melisandre does not become angry or insulted, and answers with, “That does not matter, my queen. The Lord of Light has shown me a vision of you, and my loyalty is not all I offer you.” Before she can say any more, Dany interrupts her.

“You’re loyalty?” she scoffs. “You follow your visions. I have not seen these visions, do not know what you have seen exactly. You abandoned your last king when your visions told you that he was not right. How can I be certain that you will not do the same to me?”

“Because of the gift I would give to you, Your Grace.”

Dany narrows her eyes. “Gift. I do not trust  _maegi_ , priestess. My encounters with magic have not been pleasant, and have not ended well for those wielding it.” She thinks of Mirri Maz Duur, and the warlock Pyat Pree. Both of them wished her death, and yet neither can do much to harm her now.

The priestess steps closer to Daenerys and kneels at her feet. Dany cannot help the instinctive movement she makes to lean away, to get away from the foreign woman before her, even if she knows there is nowhere for her to move. She can feel Drogon becoming restless with this stranger, and places a hand on his neck to comfort him. To her surprise, he settles some, though he holds his head as high as he can and a low growl rumbles from inside him.

“I know you will like my gift, Your Grace. I have seen it in my fire.” She pauses, and looks Daenerys directly in the eye when she says, “I would bring your lost love back from the dead.”

Dany knows she should not trust this  _maegi_ , has suffered for such a mistake in the past. Yet she cannot stop herself from feeling the want to have Drogo back, the need to see her sun and stars, and feel him inside her again. She would feel whole, she realizes, and her sun and stars may be able to give her a bigger army, as he had intended to do so before. They may even have a child, a son like the one she would have had. Mirri Maz Duur had said that her womb would quicken once her Drogo was returned to her.

Her voice quivers when she asks, “You would give this to me? For nothing? You would do this to show me that you are loyal?” She wants it, she wants it more than anything she has ever wanted, she thinks. But she doesn’t know if she can be sure. She has no way to know that this isn’t some trick, unless she allows this woman to work whatever magic she has and see for herself.

And she realizes that, as fearful as she is of what this  _maegi_  may do, she cannot allow this opportunity to pass. If this woman could bring Drogo back, Dany would be given her sun and stars again. If not, then she has lost nothing more than she had already.

The priestess answers as these thoughts pass through Dany's head. “It would not be for nothing, Your Grace.” Those words have her attention snapping back to Melisandre, and the woman adds, “The Lord of Light has shown me a vision of you and your love. He has shown me that you must be reunited, if the Great Other is to be defeated."

Daenerys does not know what this means, does not understand who this Great Other is. She had seen worshipers of R’hollor before in the Free Cities, but had never learned much of it. She had always been on the run, she and Viserys, always one step ahead of the Usurper’s assassins. The want is still there, though, and it overpowers any other emotion.

She rises to her feet, towering above Melisandre, who still kneels. “I will accept your gift. But be warned, Priestess. The last  _maegi_  that took my husband from me burned. You will too, if you cannot give me this gift.”

“I will, Your Grace. The Lord of Light commands it, and so it will be done,” Melisandre says, her smile perhaps the most genuine she has given Daenerys.

 

* * *

 

When the  _khalasar_  stops the next evening, Daenerys follows the priestess to a clearing just outside of the Khalasaar. The grass that grew everywhere has been burned away. An almost-circle of flat, empty land remains.

As they walked through the  _khalasar_ , Dany had felt the weight of their stares. They were afraid of both the Red Woman and the Mother of Dragons. But Dany worries that the fear may turn to anger once they realize what they are doing. Drogon is hunting, and though they are afraid of him, his absence may give them enough courage to kill both her and the priestess.

To her surprise, a small pyre stands ready. A young man, only a few years older than Daenerys, waits beside it. He stares at Daenerys and she can see the awe in his expression. When he tears his eyes away from her, they go to Melisandre. There is no love in his face, but there is a certain trust that Dany finds not unexpected. He is obviously from Westeros, and she doubts he would have traveled with the priestess if he didn't - or couldn't - trust her in some way.

As they get nearer, Dany sees that there is a body atop the pyre. Wrapped in a dark cloak, she can only see that it is a man’s body. She looks to Melisandre in question, but the priestess is not paying attention to her.

Turning her head, she notices a cart and two horses a little ways away, near the edge of the clearing. The young man had walked over to there, and he returns with another man, dragging him across the ground and to the pyre.

“Only death may pay for life,” Melisandre says from behind Daenerys, making her jump. The young man ties whoever he had been dragging to the pyre, then steps away. He nods to Melisandre.

Dany doesn’t listen to what is said when Melisandre steps forward, a torch in her hand. None of it matters, so long as her sun and stars is returned to her.

The sun is just disappearing beyond the horizon when Melisandre puts the torch to the pyre, and it alights in flames. Daenerys watches, hope rising with the fire.

 _My sun and stars will return_ , she says in her thoughts to combat the fear that this is all wrong.  _My sun and stars will return_.

Some of the flames still burn high when she sees movement on the pyre. Distantly, she hears Melisandre tell her that she can go to him, and she does. It is only a few feet away, still Dany runs to her husband. 

The sun is gone, and the only light comes from the fire, yet she can still see him. He is moving slowly, as if waking from a deep sleep. She worries that he may burn himself in the fire, and runs faster.

As if a path had been made in the fire, she falls to her knees beside her Drogo unscathed. The tears blur her vision, and she closes her eyes to wipe them clear. When she opens them, they are met immediately by dark grey ones.

For a moment, she cannot bring herself to move. The eyes are so familiar, and aren't. She knows she has seen them before, but knows that it could not have been in person. She would have remembered if they had.

When she finally moves again, she sees the pale skin and lean muscle, the young face, the eyes that haunt her. This is not her sun and stars. This is a boy, maybe her age, a boy that has been forced to grow old beyond his years. He stares at her, his mouth gaping. Not her sun and stars, not Drogo.

He gasps her name before his eyes roll back into his head and he falls back onto the pyre. 


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I do not know how I came to see what I saw, whether it was from the Lord of Light, or the old gods, or if it was simply magic. But I do know what I saw. And Dany," he says, surging up and taking hold of her hands, "we may never have met before, may never have even heard of one another before. I don't care. I know I have never loved someone the way I love you."_

She had run away after the boy had woken. Had turned around and sprinted back, to the  _khalasar_ , to the tent that she and Drogon shared. She had fallen to the ground, where her blankets lay. Tears had fallen, and she had cried as much as when they had left the house with the red door, because she had been given hope again, and as every other time, it had been ripped from her grasp and burned away.

Dany had thought she knew loss before, but this was worse. At least when Drogo had died, her dragons had been born. She had seen and held hope, had known that she still had a fighting chance.

And what does she have now? Three untamed dragons? A priestess that cannot not be trusted? Some mysterious boy she has never met before? She sits in the middle of a thousand warriors that would kill her if not for Drogon. Meereen is leagues away, Westeros further.

 _Perhaps I do belong with the_ dosh khaleen _. What else is there for me? I cannot bear a child. I cannot rule a city, much less King's Landing. Is this all the gods have planned for me?_

The flap of wings breaks her from her thoughts, and she lifts her head to stare at the back of the tent. Drogon lands outside with a thud, and Dany hears the horses going wild at the sight of such a beast. Slowly, the back of the tent is pushed up and Drogon's head slinks inside. He holds charred meat between his teeth and drops it beside her.

The Dothraki give her food her, yet sometimes Drogon will return from hunting and leave a scrap of what he had eaten for her.  _He feeds his mother, when it should be the other way around._

Dany has not ridden him since Khal Jhaqo found her. If she did, she thinks he would take her back to Dragonstone. Unless she could show him the true Dragonstone, he may remain even as Daenerys returns to Meereen. If she returns to Meereen.

A better city than it was before she arrived, but who ruled in her absence? Is it Hizdar? Has he taken the power, and ordered her army and people dead? The Sons of the Harpy? Have they become bold enough to commit such an act? Have they killed her men now that their queen and her dragon are gone? She has no way to know, not while she sits here.

If she had not trusted Mirri Maz Duur, her husband would still be alive. There would have been no need for the Unsullied or Meereen. They could have bought ships for Westeros, and the Iron Throne could be hers now.

She could have had a son and a husband. She could have had ten thousand Dothraki warriors at her command. And she wold have no dragons.

_If I look back, I am lost._

Nearly an entire day passes before the priestess returns to her. Dany has eaten and slept and walked with the  _khalasar_. Nightmares plague her dreams. She sees Khal Drogo, and her son Rhaego, and her brothers, Viserys and Rhaegar. She sees the boy on the pyre, lying in red snow, his dark eyes sightless and dead. She sees a fire that consumes all.

Dany doesn't hear Melisandre enter, but Drogon snarls the moment she does. The sound does not surprise Daenerys, and she turns slowly to face the  _maegi_. She glares at the other woman, enraged by the sight of her.

"What do you want, priestess?" she growls. "Have you taken enough from me, or is there still more you desire?"

Melisandre tilts her head to the side. Daenerys recognizes the curiosity. She looks at Dany as if she were an unusual child, making little and no sense as she babbles on.

"Is this not what you wanted, my queen? I promised you your lost love. I have given you that. Yet you would curse me and the gift the Lord of Light has provided."

"I do not love him!" she screams, her anger - at herself, at the priestess, at this boy she supposedly loves - as fierce as the fire in her dreams. "I do not even know him!"

"You may not know him yet, but he knows you, Your Grace. The Lord of Light has given him visions of all that is to come. He knows you, and he loves you. You will too. The Lord of Light shows me in the fires.

Dany shakes her head vehemently. "It is impossible for him to know me. We have never met. I do not know him, and he does not know me."

"You do not know each other because you do not allow yourself to know him. He knows your name, knows your appearance and your voice. He knows your love, and the love he holds for you." The priestess lowers herself to where she is eye level with Daenerys. She takes Dany's chin in her hand, grips surprisingly powerful, keeping her from turning away.

"The Lord of Light has given you something that you could never have otherwise. Take it, and be happy, for the Long Night comes, Your Grace. The night is dark and full of terrors." She releases Dany and rises from the ground. "He awaits you where we camp, my queen."

 

* * *

 

Despite the hatred and the rage that courses through her veins, Dany finds herself becoming curious. She hates it, nearly more than anything else in the world, but she cannot stop the questions that continue to enter her mind. Who is this boy? Where did he come from? Why was he dead? Who killed him? Why was he brought here?

Even Drogon begins to sense her distress, and becomes agitated because of it. After some time, he flies off. Dany does not know if he simply wishes to get away, or if he is truly hungry. Strangely enough, she has found he only ever leaves when he wants food. She wants to believe it is a good sign, but does not think on it much.

She tries to banish the thoughts, the questions, the curiosity. She lasts a little while longer before she cannot take it, and the burning need to know and understand wins out.

Again, they stay a distance from the  _khalasar_. The tent the priestess and her companions have set up is small, barely large enough for a two people, much less three. The other man from that night sits outside, a sword across his lap. He runs a stone along the blade as she approaches, and lifts his head to watch her.

Daenerys wishes she could simply walk into the tent, confront the strange boy that knew her name, and leave. But she cannot make her feet move anymore, and instead she stands before the entrance, trying to find the courage that had allowed her to get this far.

Truthfully, she fears what she may find in that tent. The boy had not been alive before she had gotten to him, she knows that. How had the priestess brought him back, and for what reason?

"You may go in if you like, my lady." She startles, having forgotten the other man. She looks to him in surprise, unsure how to respond.

Eventually, she manages to ask, "What is your name, ser?" Her voice is hoarse and quiet, and she clears her throat before she speaks again.

He chuckles, turning back to his work. "I am no knight, Queen Daenerys. Merely Satin Flowers."

A bastard. "Satin. That is an unusual name," she says.

"Not for a whore, it isn't." He does not look at her, but she can see the way his face darkens.

She did not expect such an answer, but it does not surprise her as much as she might have thought. She can see the way his face had held softness once, now hardened. His eyes, too, once much brighter, are now darker. Strangely, he reminds Daenerys of herself. After she had married Khal Drogo. After she had lost him. The man knows pain and loss, the same as her.

"How did you come to be in service to a Priestess of R'hllor?" She knows the religion is not a popular one in Westeros, with very few priests or priestesses living there. Her brother and her knights had told her of the Seven and the old gods of the North.

"It is a long story, Your Grace, one I'm sure  _he_ could tell you."

"You will not tell me?"

"It is not my story to tell."

Their conversation over, the man - Satin - turns his full attention back to his work. A clear dismissal. An open invitation for her to move on, to enter the tent.

There is not much more for her to do. She spoke to Satin to stall, and now there is nothing left for her to say or do. Of course, she could always leave. Walk away and forget about his boy and the priestess. Unfortunately, for all she may want to, she cannot. She braces herself for what she will find, and moves the flap to the entrance aside.

It is darker inside, though not by much. Several candles are laid on the ground, unlit while the sun outside provides enough light. There is little room, not nearly as spacious as those the Dothraki live in. Three bedrolls lay on the ground, one messier than the others.

The boy from the fire sits in a corner, a book settled on his lap. He seems to know it is her before he even looks up. "Dany," he breathes. It is a sigh of relief, as much as it is a greeting.

"Queen Daenerys," she corrects harshly. She does not intend to be cruel, but she does not wish to be friendly either.

"Of course." He stands, setting the books down carefully, and crossing the small space between them. He stares at her in wonder. Instinctively, he raises a hand to her face, cupping her cheek.

Daenerys gasps in surprise, and finds herself leaning into the touch as thoughtlessly as he had. His palm is warm against her skin, the touch familiar in a way she does not understand, and comforting.

All too soon, she remembers the reason why she was here, everything that had occurred for them to be here. She pulls away, sees the flash of hurt on the boy's face before it is hidden behind a mask. "Of course," he mutters darkly.

"I-do not think to touch me like that again." Her words stumble out, clumsy from the shock she feels. How can this stranger reduce her to such a state? Who is he?

He bows his head in shame. "Apologies, Queen Daenerys. I had not realized-it will not happen again. The Lady Melisandre has mislead me. I am sorry."

Shaking her head vehemently, she says, "I don't even know your name."

"Jon Snow," is the immediate reply.

 _Another bastard?_  she thinks, but does not say. Instead, what comes out is, "How did you come to be in the service of the priestess?"

At first, Jon Snow merely stares at her. Then he answers in a melancholy voice. "That... it is a long story, Queen Daenerys."

"So I was told by Satin Flowers. But he said that it was your story to tell. So you  _will_  tell me this story, of how you died and were brought back to life. Of how you know me," she adds as an afterthought.

Jon Snow nods his head, and gestures for her to sit on one of the bedrolls. She does and he follows suit. He sits close to her, close enough that their legs nearly touch, and she can feel the warmth from his body. It makes her suddenly cold, but she ignores it as best she can.

"I assume you know of the Night's Watch?" She tells him she does, remembers Ser Jorah mentioning it once or twice before. She hates thinking of his name, focuses her attention solely on Jon to rid her mind of the memories and thoughts surrounding her bear.

As though he understands, he smiles sympathetically before continuing. "I was the Lo-a brother of the Night's Watch. Lady Melisandre had come with Stannis Baratheon, and remained after he had left."

Daenerys wants to ask him about Stannis Baratheon, and what he was doing at the Wall, but she does not interrupt him.

"I broke my vows, and my brothers executed me for it," he says, and she does not miss the hint of bitterness in his tone. "Melisandre and Satin recovered my body, and they brought me across the Narrow Sea, in search of you."

"The way you speak and act, it is as if you know me. But that cannot be possible. We have never met before today." Dany rises to her feet, and begins to pace in the small area she has to move. "Melisandre tells me that you have seen vision of me, us. Of our future. But that cannot be... can it?" She trails off, stopping to look at him.

Jon takes a moment to think before he replies. "I do not know how I came to see what I saw, whether it was from the Lord of Light, or the old gods, or if it was simply magic. But I do know what I saw. And Dany," he says, surging up and taking hold of her hands, "we may never have met before, may never have even heard of one another before. I don't care. I know I have never loved someone the way I love you.

"I know, despite how much he hurt you, you still loved Viserys when he died, and you still do. I know that the only home you can ever picture when you try to is the house with the red door. I know that you care for your dragons, but you fear what they are and what they may become. I know you doubt whether you will ever be able to reach Westeros."

He hands had moved to her waist. So entranced she had been by his eyes and words, she did not notice. And as before, she does not fight him. Their bodies, she realizes, pressed closely together.

Moving one of his hands from her waist, he takes her hand in his and presses it to his lips.

"Dany," he says again with such passion, and never has someone said her name so beautifully, "I know you. And I love you."

Immediately following his words, he leans his head down and seals her mouth with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can also be found [here](http://mosttulip.tumblr.com/post/131924570287/from-the-ashes-ptii).


End file.
